I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. I do not love any one. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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